“Good God! Miss White, you must become my mistress.” Lord Reddington rose from his seat on the chaise, his wrists still tied and the damp spot on the falls of his trousers evidence that her plan had worked.
Mary was rather surprised at how quickly her task had been completed. Ordinarily it took men at least a half of an hour to be fulfilled without a single touch, but Lord Reddington had found completion within ten minutes.
She smiled at him, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “I am mistress to no one.”
“Then you must say yes. Be my mistress.”
She had been propositioned by many men and her answer with Lord Reddington would be the same as the others. Mary shook her head. “I will not become a mistress. I prefer the freedom to choose.”
“Then I shall come again tomorrow. And the day after…”
Curses. The man was determined. Though…that might work to her advantage.
Mary slipped her chemisette over her mostly nude form and sidled up close to him. “La, what a persistent man. You may come back, Lord Reddington,” she said in a throaty whisper, “but my answer will remain the same.” As she pulled away, she slid her scarf from around his wrists and draped it over the decorative mirror of her dressing table.
She heard him stand behind her before she felt his body press against her back, his arms curving around her middle to pull her tightly against his front.
“Please, dearling, call me James. I long to hear my name on your lips.” He spun her in his arms, turning her so he could see her face as she spoke.
The corner of her mouth curved up. “James,” she whispered.
“Mmmm,” he hummed, squeezing her tighter against him. “Louder.”
She reached around her back to clasp one of his hands in hers, forcing him to loosen his grip. Bringing it slowly upward, she used his hand to caress her hip, her waist, and then between their bodies to graze her chest, finally reaching her deliberately chosen final destination. She lightly grazed his fingertips over her pouted lips, then she pulled his forefinger into her mouth and bit the tip. “James.”
A grunt of satisfaction escaped him as he pulled her to him once more. He wedged his face in the soft area between her neck and shoulder and inhaled deeply. “A good friend of mine is hosting a house party in a fortnight.” His voice was muffled against her skin. “Tell me you will accompany me.”
She placed her most charming smile on her lips. “That, my lord, I will most certainly do.” She lifted an eyebrow as she placed her hands on his shoulders. “However, I will not go as your mistress and I insist that we arrive separately.”
“Come now, love, you don’t know what you’re missing.” His liquor-scented breath wafted over her and she suppressed a grimace. Ever since her horrifying experience all those years ago, she had a vehement distaste for all spirits, particularly those riding upon the breath of a man.
Mary raised an eyebrow once more and began to pull away from him.
He tightened his hold. “I concede!” he said almost desperately. “I concede, minx.”
She dazzled him with a bright smile. “I would be delighted to attend. Thank you.”
Suddenly, the door swung open and a man tumbled in, falling to the floor. Startled, they both jumped. Lord Reddington released her, causing Mary to stumble backward.
“I say!” Lord Reddington exclaimed, red faced.
The man staggered awkwardly to his feet, the stench of brandy seeping from his clothing and filling the air around him.
“I say, get out, sir! This room is taken!” Lord Reddington removed the hat still resting on his head and placed it discretely over his pelvic region as he stepped away from Mary.
The intoxicated man looked around, bleary eyed, at his surroundings. His bright clothing was rumpled, but of fine quality, his black hair was wavy and haphazardly styled atop his head, and he sported the dark outline of several days’ growth of beard.
Mary stepped toward the confused man with a mind to help, but Lord Reddington placed a hand on her arm to hold her back.
“Did you hear what I said, sir?” Lord Reddington’s voice darkened.
The man turned bloodshot blue eyes in their direction, his gaze sweeping them both from head to toe. A slow grin spread across his lips. “Oooh…I geddit.” He brought a hand up to touch the tip of his index finger to his nose, but missed and poked himself in the eye. “Bl—bloody hell!” He blinked rapidly, losing his balance and knocking into the stool in front of her dressing table. “Shhhh!”
He righted himself again, though still unsteady. “Having a liddle fun, eh?” He winked both eyes, his grin growing to show perfectly white teeth. “I don’ wanna interrupt!” He wiggled his fingers suggestively and suddenly Mary felt the urge to smile.
The intoxicated man turned to leave but tripped over his own foot and fell face down onto the floor.
Lord Reddington cursed soundly and stepped forward, clearly at the end of his patience.
“No,” Mary stopped him. “Leave him. I know how to deal with drunken men. I can summon some of the stagehands to assist with removing him.”
His lordship looked from Mary to the man lying unconscious on the floor, clearly wishing to take his leave, but reluctant to appear uncaring. “It would be unseemly for me to leave you alone here with him.”
“Oh, la!” She smiled broadly at him. “I assure you, Lord Reddington, I am fully capable of handling myself with this man. The moment you take your leave, I shall summon a stagehand.”
Mary felt the urge to laugh at the look of relief that crossed his features. Evidently expending any effort not involved in a seduction was unworthy of his time. His indolence in this instance was rather to her advantage.
“If you are certain,” he said.
She smiled at him. “I am certain.”
“Very well. I shall send ‘round a messenger with the details of the house party.”
Mary ran her hand down his arm to gently squeeze his lace-clad wrist. “I wait with bated breath, my lord.”
With one last glare at the slumbering, inebriated man and his hat still placed strategically over the falls of his trousers, Lord Reddington made a hasty departure. Mary waited until she heard his footfalls fade far down the corridor before she closed and locked her dressing room door.
Turning, she placed her hands on her hips. “Must you have arrived so early, Hydra? I despise having to make excuses.”
A low rumble emanated from the heap upon the floor before the grinning and decidedly sober Sir Charles Bradley rose to his feet to face her, his gaze carefully focused on her face. Hydra had seen her thusly on several occasions during assignments and he always had the graciousness to not draw attention to her scanty attire.
“It says little for the man that I anticipated an early evening for you, Mary.”
Poorly hiding her grin, Mary clucked her tongue at him as she strode to the privacy screen to retrieve her dressing robe. “That is ungenerous of you, Hydra.”
He laughed. “Indeed, it is.” His laughter died as he quickly sobered. “Despite the soft side that he may show potential lovers, Mary, the man is a villain.”
She emerged from behind the screen with her robe in place and the rope firmly tied. “I believe you. I always do.”
He nodded, his arms crossing over his chest. “I gather you have garnered an invitation to the house party?”
“I did.” She sat on the stool before her dressing table, then opened a container of rose scented cream and dipped her finger in. “Is that what my next assignment will be?” She turned to face him as she rubbed the cream over her hands and forearms. “You mentioned a ‘new role’ this morning.”
“Yes. We will discuss the particulars at first light.”
Mary wondered briefly at his evasiveness but pushed the thoughts from her head. Hydra was her superior. He had a reason for every assignment he sent her on and she trusted him implicitly.
She nodded. “Very well.”
“I would discuss it with you now, but I expect you desire sleep.”
“I do,” she conceded. If tomorrow was the beginning of preparations for a new assignment, she most certainly required sleep.
“I brought my carriage,” he said. “I would be pleased to drive you home.”
A genuine smile split her lips. “Worried over me, Hydra?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Far too many of our men have gone missing or have turned up injured or dead of late. As well as I know you can handle yourself with some men, Mary…I daren’t contemplate it if you were to come upon the wrong sort of man, particularly in great numbers.”
Mary’s smile faded. He truly is worried for my safety, she realized. “I would be grateful for your escort; however, I must begin packing my belongings.”
Hydra shrugged one shoulder. “I would be pleased to loan you my carriage and two footmen to assist you in packing after our meeting on the morrow so that you might retire earlier tonight.”
“I would not wish to impose…”
“It is no imposition at all, I assure you.” He grinned. “Besides which, Bridget would have my hide if I allowed you to do so on your own.”
He smiled to himself at the mention of his new, very pregnant wife, and Mary could not help the small burst of envy that sprang through her. Would that she could have a man who adored her as much as Hydra adored his wife.
“Thank you, Hydra.”
Mary pulled a gown and underthings from her wardrobe, then disappeared behind the privacy screen.
Foregoing the use of stays or a corset, Mary put a simple gown of brown over her shift and petticoats. It was not a gown one would see among the gentry, to be sure, but it was one of her favourites. It reminded her of chocolate.
Mary grinned as she fastened her stockings to her garters.
She slid her feet into her slippers and pulled her pelisse over her dress before emerging from behind the screen. Hydra straightened from his relaxed position by the door as Mary retrieved her matching brown bonnet.
“Will you not do your hair?”
Mary could not help but tease him. “Is it really that dreadful?”
She laughed outright at the look of alarm on his features. “Be at ease, Hydra, I plan to wear a bonnet.” She knotted her hair at the base of her neck and placed the bonnet atop her head, tying the ribbons beneath her chin.
Hydra held an arm out to her and she accepted, allowing him to lead her through the corridor and out the rear entrance, where they found his carriage waiting.
The cool May night air held a refreshing crispness, devoid of fog. The moon shone gaily in the sky, high above them, the stars demanding acknowledgement with each twinkle. Such was an amazing—and rare—sight in the heart of London, for the evenings were often filled with the dark haze of coal smoke.
They entered the well-sprung equipage, and Mary took the rear-facing seat while Hydra lounged comfortably across from her. The ride was silent yet contented, each lost in their own thoughts.
Outside, carriage wheels clattered over cobblestones and coachmen called warnings to one another. The streets were dense with traffic, the equipages en-route to return their passengers home from balls, soirees, and the theatre. It made Mary grateful that her apartments were an easy distance to the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane.
An image of Gabriel’s scowling face at her choice of location raced to the foreground of her mind and she frowned in return. He had never been approving of her choices. Shame on her for allowing his admonitions to affect her so. And, dash it, shame on her for allowing him to monopolize her thoughts.
She had embarrassed herself in the theatre this evening. While the audience might not have noticed her drop of character, Mary certainly had.
The carriage rolled to a halt before her modest apartments, the springs bouncing as the footman descended from his rear perch before the door swung open, bringing with it a gust of cool night air. The footman lowered the steps and Mary gratefully accepted the young man’s hand as she exited.
She turned to gaze into the dark carriage, where she could see her superior’s outline against the window. “I am much obliged, sir. Good night.”
He nodded. “Until tomorrow, Mary.”
“Oh, and Hydra?” She paused. “You make an excellent inebriate.” She closed the door with his laughter ringing in her ears.